


Life Support

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Prompt Fics [61]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, Episode: s15e03 Bad Blood, Gen, I can't see that title without thinking of the Bastille song, tagged with ship but not really that shippy???, up to interpretation tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23189781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Missing scene to "Bad Blood," Nick visits Greg and (a sleeping) Sara.
Relationships: Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes
Series: Prompt Fics [61]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540795
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Life Support

**Author's Note:**

> from an anon prompt on tumblr

“You can’t be here.”

Greg tosses a glance through one wall of the plastic barrier at his roommate, who didn’t hear the crinkle of plastic that perked his ears up, the tiny hairs on the back of his head standing at full attention despite his tired body. Sara’s still asleep, resting through her sudden fever that Greg’s still visibly shaking over, his fingers tremble as he stands up from the chair he vacated to greet Nick…or rather, push him away.

“Don’t care. I just–”

“Don’t!” Greg gasps as quietly as he can, he puts his hands up, as if that will do any good. Nick stops just before his nose practically touches the barrier, his eyes wide with hurt as he flashes back to the limited view from bars on a window imprisoning someone in much worse condition. 

His hands were shaking, too.

“–needed to see you.”

Nick waves over his suddenly dry lips with his tongue, but his throat is still dry, his voice akin to the gravel dirt roads he ran through as a child. When he video called with his friends only a few hours ago, he pretended that they were simply in another room, that any minute they would come back into the lab, they’d share a meal, share some laughs. Convinced himself that they were simply working the case, just like him, that their garb and plasticized setting was just routine, because their brains were still helping him brainstorm, his two favorite people, two people that _he cares about very much._

“How are you feeling?” Nick gulps.

“Better than her. Fever.”

Nick nods, his lips tight. He can hear the fear in Greg’s voice.

“She’ll be okay. She’s tough as nails. Even a whole damn desert didn’t bury her,” Nick tries to comfort the obvious disturbance in Greg.

_Poor choice of words, Stokes._

He sniffles through his nostrils, the air grows thicker and almost…humid? Perhaps its because his forehead is beaded in nervous sweat, his palms clammy. The makeshift hallway in the enclosure was threatening to swallow him, he inches closer to the wall, a movement that Greg notices and worries about, his eyebrows curve in concern.

He shuts his eyes for a second, just a second, and when he opens them, his hand is pressed against the plastic.

“Listen, Greg, I…I’m sorry. I’m sorry this is happening to you. To both of you.” 

“Not your fault,” Greg laughs off softly. He steps towards the barrier, Nick can feel the phantom gesture of his palm against his skin. “Doesn’t matter, anyway, we got the best CSIs on our case. I know you’re doing all you can.”

“It’s not enough.”

 _You both should be out by now,_ Nick bites his tongue, Greg’s already pale enough as he is.

Greg presses his hand against the plastic, and Nick wishes he felt more than just the transfer of heat through the material. He wishes he could feel Greg’s _skin,_ feel his breath on his face, run his fingers through his hair. 

“We’ll be _fine._ We got each other. And you,” Greg tells him. “But not…not if you keep hanging around here. We’re contagious, man.”

 _So what,_ Nick thinks. _We could be together in isolation._

“I know, I know,” Nick mutters instead. He clears his throat, not too loudly to disturb Sara, but enough to soothe the rising bile from the scratches in his throat. “There’s just…only so much communication that can…come through a video call, you know?” 

“I know,” Greg nods. 

A beat, Greg ducks his head, another glance to his neighboring cellmate, before he drops his voice into a whisper that’s just barely audible.

“I’m _scared,_ Nick. I-I know I’m not… _alone_ here but I just feel…so…isolated.” 

Nick removes his hand, spins around, before Greg can see the single tear rolling down his cheek. 

_So am I,_ he wants to admit. But he shouldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Greg doesn’t need to see his vulnerability right now, he needs his strength. 

“I’ll come back with some pizza for y’all later,” he throws on a casual smile as if Greg can see it, but the sensation of eyes watching the back of his head tells him they get the picture anyway.

“That a promise?” Sara weakly croaks from her bed.

Nick smiles, his eyes closed, he tries to paint his own mental picture, the three of them. Healthy, smiling. The way they want to be remembered, not through crime scene photos or toe tags on ice cold corpses. 

“’Course it is. Stokes honor.”

He walks forward, back through the suffocating plastic hallway, and can’t help but feel a little jealous as Greg begins to talk to Sara, check in with her, ask if she’s okay, distracting himself from his own pain. 

At least Greg has the living, breathing company of Sara in his solitude. All Nick had was the mechanical whirring of his own life support.


End file.
